Page 86 of The Song We Lost

“And she will,” he says fiercely.

I swallow hard.

“What about second opinions?” I push. “Specialists or trials… I can fly her anywhere.”

The doctor nods. “You’re welcome to seek additional consultations. I can provide referrals. But the staging is clear.”

Clear.

I never knew I could hate that word. But here… clear means final.

I sit back in the chair, exhaustion crashing over me all at once. My body feels hollow. My brain is racing through names, hospitals, research articles Rachel sent but I haven’t read fully yet.

We can fix this.

We have to.

Sadie squeezes my hand under the table.

“Bailey,” she says softly.

I look at her.

“I don’t need you to save me,” she says. “I need you to be here with me, with her.”

I don’t respond. Because I don’t know how to be here without trying to fix it.

Outside, the October sun is blinding. People are walking down the sidewalk carrying coffee cups and grocery bags. The world is still moving.

And I am sitting in a quiet sterile room being told my sister is dying while her daughter’s heartbeat echoes in my ears.

I straighten in my chair.

“Send me everything,” I tell the doctor. “Every report. Every scan. Every number.”

He nods.

If there is even a fraction of a percent chance, I will find it.

chapter 22

bailey

. . .

Ihaven’t slept, not properly, every time I close my eyes I see medical charts. I see the words the oncologist said dancing in my head. I see a timeline counting down in numbers I don’t understand yet.

The house is quiet when I come downstairs at five in the morning. The sky outside is still navy, the property nothing but shadows. I make coffee, because I don’t think tea will cut it, and open my laptop before the machine even finishes dripping.

I take in everything I can get my hands on. Pancreatic cancer survival rates, late-stage pregnancy treatment protocols, clinical trials, immunotherapy and experimental combinations. I have spreadsheets open now. Columns labeled: Location. Specialist. Trial Phase. Eligibility Criteria. Survival Increase.

If I can put it in a box, a column, I can solve it.

I email two more specialists before the sun comes up.

Upstairs, I hear Sadie moving. She’s humming.Humming.Like this is any other week of her life.

By the time she comes down, wrapped in one of Cole’s sweaters, she’s glowing again in that fragile, almost fever-bright way.